Beneath the Frost
by Maeve09
Summary: Sherlock and Khan's souls are empty, their hearts lost to time and space. And what fills the emptiness, but frost that grows thick with the passage of time, until it's nearly impenetrable. Until they're given another chance at life, one that can fill their missing hearts and find what lurks beneath the frost. The Hobbit Wholock Into Darkness crossover. Rated M for possible language
1. Into Darkness

**~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

"Sherlock! Khan! Let go of each other this instant! Jim, give Donovan her doll back. Lestrade!" John's voice boomed through the large mansion, where he had found himself earlier that morning with two toddlers and four babies, as well as three teenagers.

It didn't take him long to realize just who the children were, especially after the teenage boy had fixed him with an icy stare and asked him to "Kindly remove your hands from my brolly." Well, it had taken some time to learn Khan's name. He had graced John with it only half an hour ago.

~oOo~ (30 minutes earlier) ~oOo~

"What's your name, then, lad?" John had asked, lifting the baby onto his lap and examining him for a tag of some kind.

"Khan Noonien Singh." The boy had responded, and John had nearly dropped the child in his fright. "Wasn't expecting you to speak. Aren't you a little young for that?"

"I speak because I am better."

"At what?"

" _Everything_."

After that five second conversation, John had promptly put the baby down and was determined not to touch it again if he could help it.

_Why did I even touch him in the first place?_ John thought, then he realized that it was because Khan bore a striking resemblance to his best friend, a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes. John had looked around the room they were in, taking a head count.

The toddlers, a pale boy with light brown hair and a dark skinned girl with a puffball surrounding her face were sitting in the corner of the room, whispering to each other and two one of the teenage boys, who watched them with fascination in his eyes. _That has to be Donovan, Anderson and Lestrade if his salt and pepper hair is anything to go by._ John thought.

The other two teenagers were standing by the bookshelf. The boy leaning on his umbrella as he observed the situation with cold, calculating eyes, and the girl had her eyes glued to her phone, thumbs flying. _Typical Mycroft and Anthea._ John huffed in annoyance. _At least they were watching the little 'uns, I suppose, while I find whoever else is in here._

He had barely made it two steps forward when he tripped. John's open palms hit the floor with a dull thud, his nose millimeters away from smashing against the hardwood floor. "Bloody hell?!" John swore, rolling over to see what tripped him. A blacked haired baby grinned evilly back at him, waving a fire iron at him tauntingly.

"Hello Jim." John growled. The baby-fied consulting criminal just giggled, obsidian eyes glinting with mischief. There was slight movement to John's left, and he spared a glance away from Jim to see another baby crawling towards him slowly, her fragile body radiating shyness. Jim flashed a wicked grin and swung the fire poker at her. It hadn't moved more than an inch before it was yanked firmly out of his reach by John, who was thanking the heavens for his honed reflexes.

Jim's face scrunched in displeasure before assuming an air of haughty boredom as the baby girl approached, faster now that she sensed the danger was over. John carefully placed the potential weapon beneath his legs, giving Jim a cold stare of warning. Jim tensed but otherwise gave no indication of noticing anything.

Satisfied that he had somewhat gotten his point across, John turned to the baby girl, who was holding her arms out to him. He picked her up and placed her in his lap, and was struck with how cute and familiar she looked. Light brown hair fell in waves across her baby shoulders and into her face, which was mousy and quite plain, but so sweet and gentle it made John's heart warm to see it, her rich warm brown eyes pouring silent lullabies into his weary soul. "Molly." he whispered, and the baby smiled, touching his face, her soft hand rubbing against his stubble.

She giggled, laughter lighting her eyes, and he could almost hear her voice in his head. _Your face tickles._ "Oh really?" he asked, before rubbing his face into her soft baby belly, smiling at her giggles of delight. _Yep, definitely Molly. If she's here, Sherlock must be here somewhere..._

"Molly," he said, and the baby quieted at his sudden seriousness. "We need to find Sherlock. Can you help me?" he asked. Beside him Jim scoffed. _Really, John? Asking a plain baby for help to find my rival? _ Jim giggled. _How low have you sunk in intelligence?_ His eyes seemed to say.

Molly turned and gave him a withering glare, and the giggling stopped abruptly. She turned back to a surprised John and nodded, then crawled off his lap. John stood, grabbing the fire iron and holding out of the reach of a furious Jim, who was currently trying to crawl up his leg, arm waving in vain to grasp at the iron stake. Khan noticed the commotion and walked over with more grace than John could manage on his best days, and smacked Jim upside the head. Startled, Jim slid down John's trouser leg, his eyes narrowing into slits as he analyzed his new foe.

Khan stared evenly back, and although John was a good deal larger than the child, he felt himself grow cold at the sight of those ancient eyes staring from a baby's face. Khan noticed his discomfort turned to him, his expression unwavering. "Who are you searching for?" he asked.

"Sherlock." John choked out, glancing down as a small hand grasped at his trousers desperately. He looked down to see Molly's frightened face gazing up at him, her eyes pleading. Wordlessly he picked her up, cradling her in the crook of one arm. She buried her fist into his jumper and her face in his neck, and he felt her beating heart slow back to normal.

"What is wrong with the female?" Khan asked, and John nearly gaped in shock. _Where the hell was this kid from?_ "I don't think she was expecting you to speak. You startled her." John explained, and felt Molly nodding against his chest. "What does he look like?" Khan asked.

"Like you, but with longer curlier hair." John answered, and Khan's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Suddenly he looked away, his gaze focused as he listened to something John couldn't.

"This way." he stated, and began walking away, towards the door of the room they were in. In his disorientation, John hadn't even noticed it. Molly wriggled in his arms, wanting to be placed back on the floor. John complied, and she began crawling after Khan, fascinated. By the boy or by the fact he walked with the ease of an adult, John couldn't be sure.

Said boy had noticed Molly following him and had slowed his pace, allowing her to catch up. A small hand tugged on John's trousers, and he looked down to see Jim's face looking sheepishly up at him. "Would you like to be carried, Jim?" The baby nodded, and up he went into John's arms. Jim let out a pleased giggle, until he stopped moving upwards, and his face contorted. _That's it? That's how high you go? God, you're short!_ His eyes said.

"Oi! I'll put you down if you've got a problem with my height." John warned. Jim's eyes narrowed as he weighed his options. Deciding the advantage John's height gave him was better than no height at all, Jim slid his arm around John's neck and held onto a fistful of jumper, his small fingers threading through the holes in the fabric's knitting. "Right then." John said, supporting Jim's onesie-covered rump with a strong hand, using the other to open the door Khan was waiting patiently by.

"Stay here, and stay out of trouble." John instructed the others. Lestrade frowned, troubled by the unexpected abandonment. Donovan and Anderson didn't care to glance up, as they were too caught up in their own little world of whispers. Anthea just nodded, and if he didn't know any better, John would've said she didn't care.

There was a troubled shadow passing over Mycroft's cold expression, and John knew he wasn't the only one concerned about the younger Holmes brother. "Mycroft, you're in charge." John informed the teenager, who gave him a slightly amused look. _Aren't I always?_ His eyes said, but nevertheless nodded, his back straightening. Not from new responsibility, but from the trust John had just bestowed to him to look after the other children. It was a feeling Mycroft hadn't experienced for a good many years, and it was pleasantly surprising to him. Lestrade huffed in annoyance, plopping down on the floor besides the toddlers. _We get turned into children and he's _still_ in charge._ His expression read.

John followed the babies out of the room and into darkness, gently closing the door behind him. As his eyes adjusted, John realized that the hallway they had just stepped into was massive, and very dimly lit by-were those _real torches_? His mind spun, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings. They were in a very old house, most probably a mansion going by the luxurious architecture and huge paintings of people and places he didn't recognize. _Where the bloody hell are we?_

Glancing at the babies, he was relieved to find he wasn't the only one who couldn't believe what he was seeing. Jim was gaping, his pink lips forming a small "O" of surprise, the hand that had been gripping John's jumper went slack. Molly's eyes were lit with excitement, only slightly shadowed by sudden confusion as she realized she had know idea where she was and her hand reached for something to tether herself to reality, her pulse quickening.

Eventually it found Khan's, whose frown at a painting of a man who glared from the tapestry only deepened, but he gently wrapped his baby fingers around Molly's in reassurance. "Right then. Where should we start?" John asked Khan, who seemed to be the only one among them who knew where the hell anything was. Khan tore his scorching gaze away from the tapestry, and John let out a sigh of relief. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had not-so-spontaneously combusted from the glare of hate and malice Khan gave it.

The child swept his head from side to side, listening. His eyes narrowed, as though he could see something in the shadows. "This way." he said confidently, tugging on Molly's hand to get her moving. She didn't seem as frightened by his voice this time, instead watching him in sheer fascination. John tightened his grip on Jim, and followed Khan into the darkness.

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**Reviews are always welcome! Please tell me what you think. :)**

**~Maeve09**


	2. Mirror Images, Frosted Souls

**~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

Sherlock had been trapped in this room for what seemed like hours, but he knew it was only ten minutes. His mind was on overload, as it usually was whenever he had nothing stimulating to do. He was deducing every corner of this hellpit he was in, over and over and over again.

He knew exactly how far the door was from where he sat, curled in on himself, his eyes narrow slits between his long dark hair and knees. He knew how high the doorknob was from the floor. He knew to what angle to turn the knob to be released from his prison. He knew the door would unlock and open willingly into the corridor beyond. He knew there was no light outside this room; only shadows and darkness seeped under the door.

He knew all of this, and it was infuriating. For he, the great Sherlock Holmes, was trapped in this room, in his mind, in his _pathetically small transport_. He was no more than a baby, curled tight in the exact center of this room, trapped without John. His thoughts of John tortured him even greater than his annoyance at his shrunken body.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know if he was in a similar predicament, and even if he was miraculously still a man, Sherlock had no idea where he was. Sherlock didn't even know where he was himself, aside from a room. He did know that he was in a very rich room, most likely belonging to a mansion based on the architectural work of the room and its lavish though simple decorations.

It was much like the room he had practically lived in throughout his childhood, when he was still an occupant at the Holmes Estate. If the layout was the same, which he was fairly certain it was, he knew exactly where he could find the essentials for survival. _If he could get out of this bloody room._ How ironic. Sherlock had lived in this room, the kitchen, and the forest surrounding the grounds, and few places in between during his neglected childhood. And now, instead of being his refuge from the whip and belt and soul-shredding words, it was his prison cell.

And he wanted no more than to leave and never return. For it might have been his house at one point in time, but it would never be his home.

~oOo~

They had been walking down the same hallway for eight minutes, and in the map of where-ever-the-hell-they-were John had begun building in his mind, they had barely moved an inch. _Crap. We're never going to get anywhere at this rate._ He thought miserably, looking down at his little charges.

Molly had grown tired of crawling within the first five minutes, and had been picked up promptly after John had nearly tripped over her half-asleep form lying in the middle of the corridor. He cradled the little girl in one arm, and she smiled contentedly in her sleep, his steady heartbeat thrumming a lullaby through his chest.

With his other arm he supported Jim, who was now sitting backwards, his elbows on John's right shoulder and his head propped on his fisted hands, more entertained with watching things move backwards than what they were moving towards.

Khan continued leading their little troupe through the dim hallways, and although he was walking fast for a boy of his age, he was still quite slow compared to John and his adult strides, which only seemed to annoy Khan more and he attempted to move faster ever time he noticed the fact. It was very cute and amusing to John to watch this. He supposed he had a soft spot for serious cuteness in children. Lord knows he had to live with one back at 221B. It must have grown on him, not that he minded.

"How much farther, Khan?" John asked the quite child. "At our current pace, only twenty more minutes." Khan said darkly. "Too long. Here, hop on." John said, deciding their current pace was far from fast enough to reach his friend.

He knelt down, and Khan deftly clambered up onto his shoulders, placing his little hands at the crown of John's head for support. John noticed Khan avoided bumping John's left shoulder, and was surprised when it didn't give himself any pains whatsoever. Not that he was complaining, but it did warrant investigation later. "Alright then, lad. Lead on." John said.

"Go straight down this hallway until you reach the end. Then take a left, and enter the second door to your right. Go up the stairs to the very top, and there's a little door at the end." Khan instructed. John began walking faster as the directions got longer, eager to find the consulting detective. "And Sherlock's in there?" John asked. He couldn't see Khan's expression darken, his face grim. "Yes."

~oOo~

Ten minutes later, John climbed the last step of the ridiculously long staircase. There were no lights, nothing could be heard besides the steady breathing of the three babies and John's labored breathing. Seriously, he might've been in the army, but he wasn't trained to climb up who knows how many flights of stairs with three children riding him. "Where's the door?" he asked, blinking furiously as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

"Straight ahead of you." Khan whispered. And that's when John saw it; down a small passageway directly in front of them, was a small sliver of light on the ground. It took John a moment to realize it was a light coming from the room behind the door, and he prayed with all his might that Sherlock was in there. _But he would've gotten out, nothing can trap that man when he's determined. Unless..._ John held onto the babies tighter, knowing in his gut that Sherlock was no longer the man he knew.

Molly nuzzled her face into John's neck, whimpering in fear of the dark. Jim wasn't about to admit fear in front of anyone, but his hand betrayed him and grabbed the wool of John's jumper tighter. Carefully, John walked blindly towards the sliver of light. "Jim, hold onto my neck." he said. Jim obeyed, and John used his newly freed hand to turn the knob he couldn't see, but knew was there. The door swung open to the room beyond without a sound. There, sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, was a baby boy, his head laying on his arms, which were wrapped around a large white object.

He raised his head, and John saw cold grey eyes staring at him beneath long dark curls, analyzing him and the other babies. John felt his soul grow cold beneath the child's icy gaze, and he let out an unsteady breath. "Sherlock?" he asked, knowing already who it was, but he felt like he needed to hear it from this boy's own lips.

The boy lifted his head from his arms and turned the white object till its front was grinning at John. In his arms, the boy cradled a bleached skull like an old friend, its grisly grin a shield from whatever evils pervaded the memories of this house.

"Hello, Sherlock." John breathed out. Sherlock nodded, resting his head on the skull. John felt Khan release his hold of his head, sliding down John's side until he reached the floor. Carefully, as though approaching a beast that might attack at any moment, Khan walked towards Sherlock, whose eyes narrowed into streaks of silver, analyzing this newcomer and cataloguing every detail.

Khan did the same, adopting Sherlock's cross-legged position as he sat in front of the baby detective. The two boys stayed like that for the longest time, studying each other, and John was struck by how similar they were. One might have said they were identical twins. Slightly disoriented by this new realization, John examined the boys, noticing where they were mirror images and where the looking glass illusion was distorted.

If Khan's mother had let his hair grow, John knew it would have grown out the same as Sherlock's; dark luscious curls framing a very cynical albeit adorable face. Instead, where Sherlock's hair was long, Khan's was short. He had bangs, true, but they were slicked back over his head. Khan also had a more healthy body, though it was a little large for a child his age. Not with baby fat, but with lean muscle. Sherlock's body was the same as his adult body had been; under-nourished and small, but with a hidden strength and resilience. They had the same facial structure, and John had a gut feeling that once the baby fat was gone, they would have identical cheekbones, although Sherlock's were likely to be the more prominent. Sherlock's eyes were lighter, a silver-blue grey, while Khan's were darker, just like the rest of himself; a darker, more shadowed version of Sherlock.

But beneath the superficial, John could see that they were different versions of the same person; distrustfullness of humanity based on the slivers they had encountered, forged by separate horrible circumstances to become the cold, calculating people they were, and ultimately superior to everyone around them. And there was the same lonely emptyness that surrounded them, driving away those who could have cared for them over and over again over the years, until the frost on their souls had frozen over, so thick it was impossible for anyone to penetrate, the emptyness to vast to fill. It filled John with disgust, thinking of the people who forced the two boys to grow up this way, alienating themselves from the rest of the world until they believed the lies they had so desparately tried to prove wrong. And he wondered if there was any way in the world to change it.


	3. Small Voices

**~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

His lonely wait could hardly be called patient by most people's standards, but the fact that _he was _waiting was patience in itself. For what, he hardly knew. Only that he was waiting. And waiting. And waiting, until he felt an irrationally strong urge to propel himself against the doorframe. He knew it wouldn't give, but the urge was there all the same. Only his thoughts of John kept him rooted in place.

_Stay here and wait for John; he'll be here soon to get you out._ A small voice in him said. He scoffed. _Yeah? How do you know he's coming? He could be dead for all I know. And he doesn't know where I am._ He thought, but he stayed.

Sherlock didn't question his sanity, or the fact that a small voice that came from somewhere deep inside him, but not in his body was telling him what to do. It had been there for as long as he could remember, and as a child he had learned that when he listened to this small voice, things usually turned out alright. He hadn't had a name for it until he met John Watson. The army doctor was always telling him what to do, and for the most part what John said agreed with what his small voice told him. He had tried calling it his "John voice" for a while, but soon discovered that he already had a "John voice," which he could actually feel in his mind and sounded like John. He promptly decided to name his first voice "Small Voice." It didn't feel like it was its real name, but it fit for the mean time. _He'll be here._ Small Voice said. And Sherlock believed it.

~oOo~

Waiting is tiresome for anyone, and for Sherlock it was a thousand times worse. He needed something to do, something to study, someone to play with, a friend... _A friend is waiting for you, Sherlock._ Small Voice said. _Where?_ Sherlock asked. He felt a small pull in the center of himself, not in his body, but he wasn't sure where this center was, so young Sherlock had called it his Center. He turned obediently, knowing what the pull meant. His Center gave another pull, and he began crawling towards the source. He reached a decorative drape near the fireplace that lit the room, using both hands to pull back the heavy fabric. A smooth white object grinned back at him, and he smiled, wrapping his old friend in a loving embrace. He didn't realize he was crying until his tears fell on the bleached skull, streaming down his face and down the skull's. Silver diamonds pooled at the base of empty eyes and fell silently to the carpet, sending glittering shards flying into oblivion.

~oOo~

Sherlock had moved back to the center of the room, cradling the skull in his lap and arms, resting his now heavy head on his old friend's. And he slept.

~oOo~

_Sherlock._ The boy woke from his peaceful slumber, blinking residual tears from sleep filled eyes. He felt a tug in his Center, and was instantly alert. _John's here._ He gently turned the skull to face him, looking into its empty eyes for strength he couldn't find in himself. He found it there, and kissed the crown of the skull in gratitude, resting his head atop it once again. And he waited to the door to open.

~oOo~

When it did open, Sherlock was expecting the three babies John was carrying; he knew they were with him by the sound of his approaching footsteps. What he wasn't expecting, was the boy that rode his shoulders, a darker, shadowed version of himself. John let out an uneven breath. "Sherlock?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Sherlock lifted his head from the skull, and turned it till it was grinning at John. _You know who I am, John._ He thought, and was flooded with relief at the flash of recognition in John's eyes.

"Hello, Sherlock." John said, his weary eyes smiling at the sight of his old friend. Sherlock nodded his greeting, resting his head back on his bleached friend. John's shoulder's sagged slightly as the boy who looked like himself slid off and down John's side. Sherlock noticed that John didn't feel any pain from his left shoulder, and quickly filed it away as something to address later when he saw the boy approaching him. He sat down in front of Sherlock, mirroring his position. As they studied each other, they knew John was watching them as well. And they knew they both were aware of this.

_How interesting._ Sherlock thought, tilting his head to the side. The other boy reflected him, watching Sherlock closely. Suddenly his focus was elsewhere, although Sherlock could tell he was still watching him with the same level of concentration. The boy listened to something unheard by the others, and turned to John. "We must return to the others." he said decidedly, and John just nodded. _He speaks with the fluency of an adult. Intriguing._

The boy stood, and held out his hand to Sherlock, who accepted it. After making sure Sherlock was steady on his feet, the boy walked back to John, who crouched so he could clamber onto his right shoulder. Sherlock followed suit and climbed up onto John's left shoulder with some assistance from his look-alike, and settled the skull in one arm while he held onto John's head with the other. "Alright, everyone's onboard, so lets get this kiddie-train moving." John said, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

"Take ten steps forward, and you'll reach the stairs." the boy said. "Thank you, Khan." John said, following Khan's directions and descending the stairs without much trouble. Sherlock eyed Khan, admiring his name for the uniqueness it was, much like his own. Khan noticed his gaze and gave him a little smirk, which Sherlock returned. This was going to be an interesting puzzle, indeed.


	4. Ice Queen

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

Lestrade was lying on the floor, staring at the ridiculously high ceiling above since there was nothing better to and Anderson had apparently decided his stretched out form made the perfect human barrier needed for their little game, and were on either side of his stomach, make-believe shooting each other with finger guns. "Pew pew! Pew pew!" Anderson said, spittle spewing from his mouth and landing on Lestrade's face.

He grunted and draped his jacket clad arms over his face to shield him from most of the debris. _Spew-spew guns. Oh how I love them spew-spew guns._ He thought miserably, but he couldn't bring himself to move and ruin their fun. The toddlers were so cute, and had nothing else to occupy themselves with. And so he lay there, sacrificing his jacket and sanity so that the toddlers would be entertained.

Lestrade had thought about bargaining with Mycroft to take turns with him, but he quickly abandoned the idea. _That impeccable ponce wouldn't want to get his damned suit dirty. And god forbid he actually have to use his beloved brolly._ Lestrade snickered at the idea at peaked at Mycroft from between his arms. The more formally attired boy cocked an eyebrow. _Whatever are you laughing at?_ His eyes read, and Lestrade rolled his own.

Mycroft already knew what he was thinking, and they both knew he was only asking out of common courtesy. _At least the git has some._ He decided, which earned him a glare from Mycroft. Lestrade huffed, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the flecks of spit falling from the mouths above him. _Bloody mind reader._

Lestrade sighed dramatically, glancing at his peers from beneath his baby-drool covered sleeve. His theatrics didn't earn him as much as a glance, and he wasn't all that surprised. He was dealing with _the _Mycroft and Anthea, after all.

There would have to be an urgent global crisis to get Mycroft to even look up from where he picked nonexistent lent that littered his brolly. As for Anthea, well, she only looked up when it suited her, namely when her boss gave her new orders or when there was something worth ignoring her screen for, which was basically nothing as far as Lestrade knew. _Did the woman even eat?_ He wondered, staring at her curiously.

_She never lets go of that phone. That must be troublesome when she has to wash her hands._ Lestrade chuckled at the thought. _Come to think of it, how did she use the ladies' room...?_ his eyes narrowed, but he failed to deduce anything from her, and so his imagination took over. His eyes grew large, and suddenly Anthea looked up with chilly eyes, as though sensing the direction of his thoughts. Lestrade felt his face heat up and retreated beneath his sleeves, quite sure that his jacket would catch fire.

_And Jim calls Mycroft the ice man. What he forgot to mention was his Ice Queen._ A new thought occurred to him, and Lestrade re-emerged from the safety of his arms. _He was her boss before, but now that we're kids...does that mean...are they...? No, they can't be!_ Lestrade shot up, reclining on his forearms. Anderson and Sally gave a slight protest from the disruption, but continued their game of spew-spew guns as they realized he wasn't going to completely deprive them of their favorite human barrier.

Lestrade pointedly ignored the web of drool that slid from Anderson's mouth to the floor, focusing on the more pressing matter before him that was Mycroft's and Anthea's current relationship status.

Anthea cast him a quizzical look. _Why do you keep looking over here?_ Her eyes said. Lestrade stared at Mycroft, who was still meticulously cleaning his brolly, then pointedly looked at her for a good few moments before moving his gaze back to her former boss. She was a bit thick, and he had to repeat the gestures a few more times before a spark of understanding lit her eyes, which was then crushed with a look of disgust. Lestrade had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Anthea even scooted away from Mycroft a whole inch.

_Well, she obviously has never thought about that possibility until now, not that I can blame her considering the guy in question._ Lestrade thought, eyeing Mycroft. He promptly shut down all trains of thought heading in that direction, and gave a quite visible shudder. _Nope, not going there._ Mycroft turned to Anthea and whispered something in her ear, to which Anthea nodded and turned her focus back to her Blackberry, but not before giving Lestrade a withering glare.

His source of entertainment taken from him by the ruthless Mycroft, Lestrade busied himself with ignoring Anderson's now growing strain of slime, which Sally had reached over and poked. The strain broke in the middle, the spit that still clung to Anderson's mouth slinking back into the mothership as the rest dropped to the floor in a messy puddle.

Anderson pouted at Sally's pleased giggles and began to form an even thicker strand of spit and whatever else lived in a toddler's mouth. Growing sick to his stomach at these events, Lestrade sat up and moved away from the toddlers, who were too busy with a spit competition to give much protest.

"I'm leaving." Lestrade said to no-one in particular. "Not exactly fair that John and the babies get all the fun, now is it?" he asked Mycroft and Anthea who had actually raised their heads. "You're not going anywhere, Lestrade." Mycroft said firmly, swinging his brolly once on his wrist before leaning on it, something he couldn't do when he was older and, well, heavier. Sure, it had looked like he was leaning on it then, but to a trained observer it was obvious he was supporting himself, distrustful of his wooden instrument of intimidation.

"Yeah? Says who?" Lestrade said, but he stopped moving towards the door, waiting to hear what he had to say. "Me. John put me in charge, and he said to stay here. You will do well to remember that." Mycroft finished, and although his body was younger, he still retained the cutthroat ruthlessness that he could deliver with every word, cutting Lestrade down until not even the bones were left.

Lestrade shook it off, moving to stand next to the door and leaning on the frame. "I am older than you, you know." he reminded Mycroft, who didn't seem put off by this fact. "Naturally. But we both know age doesn't matter in this situation, Lestrade." Mycroft told him, and Lestrade begrudgingly admitted to himself that the younger teen was right, as always, the bloody bastard.

Mycroft went back to ignoring him, confident that Lestrade understood his current position as his subordinate and wouldn't leave. This pissed off Lestrade more than he realized, and he reveled in the feeling, suddenly determined to do something against Mycroft's orders.

_He may think he's won the battle, but it's not over yet._ He decided.

Noticing Anthea's gaze, he waved her over. To his surprise, she complied, joining him next to the door. "What are you planning, Lestrade?" she asked, practically seeing the rebellious tension rolling off him in huge waves. "My getaway, and you're helping." he said. She gave a slight scoff, but listened to his plans attentively, giving her input and expertise to revise the plot to perfection. The girl was far more clever than people gave her credit for, Lestrade realized. Unsurprising, seeing as how she dealt with the Holmes brothers on a daily basis.

~oOo~

A few minutes later Mycroft found himself cornered by a very flirtatious Anthea, and was quite flustered by the attention. He appeared to be unable to cope with the situation, his hormone-filled teenage body telling him one thing (Danger! Danger! Beautiful girl in major-flirt-mode!) and his adult mind (Anthea, what the hell do you think you're doing?! This is not professional behavior for a Holmes' assistant! Get AWAY!) telling him another. With Mycroft so beautifully distracted, Lestrade slipped out the door.

_The battle is far from over._

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**So I was supposed to be working on my first college essay on Sunday, which was due first thing Monday morning, but I got the idea for this story and it just grew, making it impossible for me to do my homework until I had gotten some of it out of my head. And so, dear readers, I stayed up till one in the morning typing story ideas and publishing three chapters, then outlining my paper so I could get up at 6:00 am and finish it in less than two hours. Why am I telling you this? To show how much I love you and how much your continued support means to me :)**

**Best wishes,**

**~Maeve09**


	5. Hues of Red and Honey Eyes

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

The first thing Lestrade realized when he stepped out into the dim corridor was that he had no idea where the hell he was or where he was going. His original plan had been to find John and the babies, but there was no way he could find them in this labyrinth. And he would rather be impaled on one of the large iron candle stands that guarded the halls then walk back into the room with his tail between his legs. Lestrade shrugged and thrust his hands deep into his jacket pockets, then spun around on his heel till he came to a stop. _To the left it is then._ He thought and began walking off, finding he didn't mind that he had no clue what he was heading towards.

~oOo~

From what Lestrade could tell about the mansion based on where he was (which was practically nothing, just a gut instinct), he was heading out of the wing of the mansion that housed the inhabitants and towards the center of the construction. He could only hope that the residents were friendly, and the center of the large house was where the kitchens were. His stomach rumbled at the thought, and he cringed as the noise echoed through the vast hallways. Lestrade had only been walking for two minutes, and he was sure he was lost.

He couldn't remember which way he had turned at the end of the previous corridor (if he had turned left, would that make it his right?) and was acutely aware of the fact that someone, some_thing_, was following him. It couldn't be a person; only Sherlock could move that quietly, and if it was him he would've commented on the fact that "Lestrade was hopelessly lost, but not to worry, for I am a genius and therefore have already deduced the layout of the mansion," by now, the arrogant git. Not that Lestrade would've minded; he was accustomed to being shown up by Sherlock, and it would be better if he could return with the detective, then Mycroft would be too distracted to make some high-and-mighty remark about Lestrade's pointless adventure. Unfortunately, it was definitely _not_ Sherlock.

It was moving too quietly to hear, but damn it, he could _feel it following him_. His old detective instincts hummed a warning through his adolescent bones, and he knew from experience to heed it. There was no point looking behind him; he knew he wouldn't see it, whatever _it_ was. The only thing he could do was keep moving. And so he walked, ever forward, never looking back.

~oOo~

It had taken time, but eventually Lestrade left the seemingly endless corridors filled with lavish rooms and entered what appeared to be the servant's wings, filled with rooms where the maintainers of the household would conduct their daily business and routines. Jiggling door handles as he walked by them, Lestrade was mildly surprised when one of them obeyed and the door swung open.

Peeking his head in, Lestrade saw piles and piles of clothes, some folded and placed on carts in neat arrangements but the majority were just piled in huge steaming heaps, as though left by their attendants in a moment of extreme haste. _Laundry room._ Lestrade thought.

_Brilliant deduction, Detective Inspector. Any other obvious facts a child could have obtained that you feel necessary to point out to the world?_ Sherlock's voice taunted, but Lestrade just brushed it aside. The sociopath wasn't here in person; there was no reason to allow his voice to haunt his every waking moment, since he would get enough of that once John returned with him.

Lestrade entered the sauna-like laundry room, running a hand over the warm cloth that lay in piles. Suddenly curious, he began sinking his hand into the fabric, wondering if there was anything within them. By the time he had reached the third pile of bedsheets, cool beads of sweat were rolling down his back before being absorbed by his thin shirt.

Still he searched, he didn't know what for, but he felt that there was something in there that needed to be found. Suddenly he felt something hard and unrelenting beneath the warm cloth, and yanked the sheets away before he had a chance to change his mind. Nestled in a nest of steam and freshly cleaned cloth was a large egg, larger than any he had seen before. It seemed perfectly white, until Lestrade reached out and laid a gentle hand on it. Where his skin touched the egg, it seemed to glow with varying hues of red and and gold.

Lestrade idly traced patterns on the egg's shell, watching the colors vanish as quickly as they had appeared as he wondered what he would do with it. Then he realized that there was no question about what to do with the egg, there never was from the moment he left the room despite Mycroft's warning. He would take the egg with him, simple as that. Carefully, not wanting to disturb whatever was sleeping within, he wrapped the egg back in its sheets and slung it around his back, tying the sheets into a sling-sack.

Satisfied that the egg was warm and secure, Lestrade left the room. He had been lost on his way here, but the egg gave him a new sense of direction and purpose, and he realized that he remembered the way back to the room. He never saw the familiar honey brown eyes watching him from the shadows.

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**Whoo! Its time to celebrate! I have made it to Chapter 5, all within two days. *bows dramatically***

**So I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, I know I'm having fun making it :) Yes, I have decided that Lestrade will be a hopelessly investigative teenage boy and a slight rebel, meaning he will get a certain pleasure out of pissing off Mycroft and poking his nose into people's love lives. *wicked grin* Muahahahahaha!**

**Also, note to IceQueenForLife: I just realized that I put a part of your username in the previous chapter. I was thinking of what to call the Ice Man's assistant, and I suppose your name was echoing in my subconsciousness. I hope you don't mind :)**

**Note to Guest reader who reviewed about Ch. 1 on 9/9/13: I don't mind the shouting, not one bit! You have no idea how delighted I was to read your review, it seriously made my day :)**

**Love to all!**

**~Maeve09**

**P.S. Please spread the word about this story to your friends and stuff, I really want to know what people think about it :)**


	6. Glowing Ostrich Eggs

v******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

When Lestrade finally reached the room he had left Mycroft and the others in, his hand froze inches away from the door knob. Slowly he moved his hand back, placing it on the sheets covering the egg.

His plans, if his jumbled thoughts could be called anything like a plan, had only gone as far as getting back to the room, and then his brain hit a wall. A large, brick wall. Jeez, what was he supposed to say about the egg?"Oh, hey guys, I disobeyed direct orders from Mycroft, got lost a bit and oh, yeah, I found this magical glowing ostrich egg. Who's the best at making an omelet here?" Lestrade snorted at his own stupidity, scratching his head thoughtfully.

Barely realizing he was stroking the egg fondly, he found he didn't like the idea of cooking the egg, not matter how loud his stomach protested. They had been through a lot together in the last five minutes. _Well, it's not like I can hide it anywhere. Or maybe..._

Lestrade slipped out of his oversized jacket, then gently moved the egg's makeshift sack until the egg was nestled in the small of his back before putting his jacket over the egg, giving it a hint of disguise. _Not the best I could come up with, but it's something._ He decided. Preparing numerous comebacks and snarky remarks for his favorite elder Holmes brother, he opened the door and stepped inside. All words dropped from his lips as he saw what waited for him within.

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**Muahahahahaha, cliffhanger! Sorry, just felt like being evil for a second there. I was having trouble deciding what to put in the next chapter, and this part needed to happen now, so I decided, to heck with it, it'll be it's own mini-chapter! Hope you liked the previous chapter. It felt a little rushed at the end to me, I was running low on steam and was very tired. Don't worry, I'll post the next chapter in a few minutes and I'll be continuously posting throughout the night.**

**Love,**

**~Maeve09**


	7. To Touch the Skull is to Release Hell

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

The first thing John noticed when he wearily walked through the door was that the room was currently a child shorter than when he had left it. Doing another headcount to make sure he hadn't lost it, he turned to Mycroft who was flicking invisible lint from his brolly.

"Where the hell is Lestrade?" John asked, temper rising fast. He plopped Molly on the floor and Sherlock and Khan hastily descended from his shoulders before he stood again. Jim slid from his arms but instead of retreating like the others, he chose to stand by John's legs, watching the exchange in anticipation, his obsidian eyes alight with mischief.

"He's gone out for a spell, should be back shortly." Mycroft answered, obviously unaffected by John's steadily rising anger. John noticed Mycroft's unspoken way of reminding him about his temper and was grateful for it. Any dramatic episode in front of the children would startle them, and he didn't want to give them any more distress than they were experiencing due to their current situation. It took a moment for John to calm down enough to trust himself to speak. "Where did he go?" John asked, watching the door with his peripheral vision. Mycroft shrugged. "Dunno." John nearly exploded. "You don't know?!" he asked, doing his best not to yell. Molly looked at him quizzically, sensing his distress. Khan gently patted her shoulder, turning her attention on him and distracting her with whatever he was doing at the moment so that she wouldn't worry about John. "Well he didn't exactly tell me. He just left." Mycroft informed him. "But I left you in charge, Mycroft!"

"That's what I told him, but he didn't listen!"

"Anthea, do you know where Lestrade went?" John asked the brunette, who glanced up from her blackberry long enough to shake her head before going back to whatever urgent matter she was taking care of.

"No use asking her, she's his accomplice." Mycroft growled, glaring at her. Anthea just smiled sweetly at him and blew him a kiss from her fingertips. Mycroft sputtered, his cheeks heating up as he turned away. John raised an amused eyebrow. "What's going on between you two?" he asked. Mycroft glared at him, his eyes slits beneath thick brows.

"A mutiny, that's what. She's a nasty little vixen traitor!" he hissed. John just nodded, understanding the situation perfectly. "Right then. Well we need to find Lestrade..." John trailed off as he heard the door opening, and spun around. Standing in the doorway was a very surprised Lestrade, his oversized jacket covered with what appeared to be dry mucus.

"What the hell happened to you, then?" he asked the teenage boy. Lestrade's mouth, which had been hanging open in his surprise, snapped closed with an audible click. "Had to use the loo." he said. John could tell the boy was lying; he had looked the same way every time he tried to fib to his old man. He decided to play along, just for the time being. John could get the truth out of him eventually, but he wanted to give Lestrade the chance to come clean first. "Did you find it?" he asked, and Lestrade just nodded.

"What's that on your jacket?" he asked, and Lestrade looked down at his attire, and going by his disgusted expression, it was the first time he had seen the state of himself. "Ugh. That's Anderson's and Sally's drool. They were playing Spit Wars over me earlier." Lestrade explained.

"Oh. Ew." John commented, trying not to laugh. "Why did you look so surprised when you walked in?" John asked. "Sherlock. He's an adorable baby, not really what I was expecting." Lestrade answered. John nodded, feeling the same way.

Just as he was about to ask what was attached to the white cloth Lestrade had slung over his chest and was obviously trying to hide beneath his jacket, a shriek of anger exploded in the room. John checked his ears to see if they were bleeding from the horrendous noise as he turned to see the cause of it. Sherlock and Khan were in the middle of a fight while Jim crawled away towards Sally to create more mischief. The little devil had left his side and he hadn't noticed.

_This is going to be a long day._

~oOo~

While John was busy interrogating Lestrade, Khan had ushered the other three babies away from the scene towards a more peaceful part of the room where they could play.

Sherlock walked alongside Khan with just as much ease and grace as the other boy, while Jim and Molly crawled ahead. Sherlock knew Jim could walk; the criminal mastermind simply chose not to. After all, why walk when you could get an adult to carry you on his shoulders? Having chosen a spot, they sat in a small circle.

Sherlock plopped down next to Khan, his skull in his lap as he stoked it fondly. Molly smiled sweetly at him, and he nodded a silent greeting. Pleased that he had noticed her, she moved her gaze to Khan, who was keeping a close eye on Jim. He could sense the young boy was a time-bomb, ready to create disaster at any given moment and without warning.

Jim just grinned wickedly, his eyes a cold pool of delighted malice. He sat down close to Sherlock, leaning into him until Sherlock shied away, not wanting to be touched by the crazy baby. Jim reached out a hand to touch Sherlock's skull, and Sherlock smacked it away, looking to Khan for assistance. Unfortunately, Khan was busy distracting Molly, who was trying to see what John was talking to heatedly about. While Sherlock's attention was elsewhere, Jim plucked the skull from his hands and began petting it possessively.

Sherlock shrieked, his wail a mixture of disgust and absolute horror at the perverse sacrilege Jim was displaying. He desperately tried to pry it out of Jim's hands, but Jim had better leverage than he did. After a minute of intense struggle, Jim was overcome by boredom and let go.

Sherlock fell backwards, clutching the skull to his chest. As Jim began to crawl away, Sherlock placed the skull safely in Molly's lap and tackled him, clawing and biting the other boy. Molly obediently held the skull, distressed at the sudden commotion. She began to cry, and as Khan tried to calm her, he realized that she wouldn't stop until the fighting had.

"Sherlock, let him go." Khan ordered, walking over and separating the two babies. Enraged at the interferance, Sherlock threw himself at Khan, who he saw as his new foe and archenemy since he had assissted the boy who had dared to touch his skull by letting him get away. While Khan and Sherlock struggled on the floor behind him, Jim crawled over to Sally and took her doll away, giggling with delight as she began to cry. The heavy steps of an adult approached the two brunette babies fighting on the floor, trying to separate them.

"Sherlock! Khan! Let go of each other this instant! Jim, give Donovan her doll back. Lestrade!" John called for backup, his hands full.

Lestrade immediately walked over to Jim and plucked the doll from his hands, giving it back to Sally. Happy with the return of her play toy, Sally gave Jim a death glare before returning to her games with Anderson. "Aren't you the little demon?" Lestrade asked, picking up the cause of all the commotion. Jim just smiled, wiping his nose on the lapels of Lestrade's jacket. "Not really mature, are you?" Lestrade sighed.

_There's no fun in being mature. I merely get satisfaction out of proving I'm more clever that you lot._ Jim's eyes taunted. John had managed to grab hold of Khan while Mycroft pryed Sherlock's fingers Khan's onesie. Defeated, Sherlock buried his head in Mycroft's shoulder and wept, growing exhausted as each sobbing hiccup passed.

"You've had a long day, didn't you Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered in his ear, rubbing his baby brother's back in slow, soothing circles, just like he used to when they first grew up. Sherlock only sighed, but that sigh meant a thousand things to Mycroft. He could only imagine what his brother was going through. If his own reaction to the mansion was any comparison, Sherlock had just relived the hell of his childhood.

After making sure that Khan hadn't suffered any serious injuries at the hands of the furious little boy, John let him walk over the where Mycroft stood with Sherlock. The teenager nodded, letting Khan walk around behind him to peer up at the drowsy detective. He wasn't angry at him, but he didn't feel pity either. Khan simply felt a deep understanding, a sudden connection to Sherlock that he had never felt with anyone before. Sherlock didn't look at him, didn't feel apologetic for his actions, and Khan didn't expect him to. A single tear fell from Sherlock's eye, and Khan caught it in his palm, wiping away the traces on his sleeve.

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**God, it took longer than I expected to get this in here. Yeah, this was all just one huge flashback. Now, back to the future!**

**The end is setting up Khan and Sherlock's relationship, and yes, it's supposed to be tense filled at the moment.**

**Soooo, this didn't go exactly as planned, but it got the point across, right? Now that everyone is together (mostly everyone. Four more characters will be introduced in the next chapter), the fun can begin!**

**I hope you guys are enjoying this story so far. I know it might not seem like it, but there _is_ a legitimate story plot here. You just have to stick around long enough to find it :)**

**Also, I think I'll end up breaking the story into two parts. _Beneath the Frost_ will be the first, centered around eveeryone's little adventures in the mansion and adjusting to life, then _Beyond the Mirror_ will really get into the juicy stuff and plot.**

**There is a pattern to my characters that made me think of this idea in the first place. Can you guess what (or who) it is? ;)**


	8. For Whom The Bell Tolls

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

Just as John was coming to terms with the strangeness of their current predicament, a loud rining of ancient bells sounded through the mansion, a hauntin echo of life in empty corridors.

"What the fuck was that?!" John shouted. It took all his manliness and British pride not to shriek. Men don't shriek. Especially British men. It just wasn't done.

"Seriously? It's the doorbell." a new voice said, and John looked over at Lestrade. He was holding Jim at arms length, his face pale and his mouth agape. "It spoke." he whispered, and for a moment John feared that he might drop the child. Jim rolled his eyes and sneered at the teenager.

"Of course I spoke. What do you think I am, stupid?" he asked. Lestrade gave a snort. "I think you're a baby, Jim." he said, color coming back into his cheeks. "I am a GENIUS!1" Jim shouted. He waved his arms around in an attempt to appear bigger, but his angry red face and flapping arms gave Lestrade the impression of a startled buzzard. It was comical, really. "Yeah, in a baby's body, ya little tyke." Lestrade said, to which Jim gave an displeased pout.

"So, if you're a genius, and Khan's 'better at everything,' and both of you can talk, then why hasn't Sherlock spoken a word?" he asked, concerned. All eyes turned to Mycroft, who was still cradling the baby in question. "Sherlock didn't speak until he was four. He knew how to, but nothing could get him to talk until his nurse maid attempted to rob us and he called the police. Once he started, he never shut up." he recalled fondly, stroking Sherlock's dark curls. The child nuzzled closer, sniffling softly into his suit.

The bells rang again, more insistently this time, as though whoever was the cause of it was in a rush. "Right then. I'm gonna check it out, you all stay here." John said, heading towards the door. "You don't know where the door is, though." Khan reminded him, and John rested his head against the wall. _Damn it, he's right._ John turned to Khan, who was watching him expectantly. "And I suppose you know where it is?" he asked, and Khan nodded.

"Of course you do. Come on, then." he said, waving the boy over. "Just a minute, John. You don't know who's at the door." Lestrade said. John glanced at him, and his gaze moved to Sherlock, who was staring at him. _Could be dangerous._ The memory of Sherlock's enigmatic text flashed through his mind, and he saw Sherlock smile, the detective's thoughts mirroring his own. "And you want to tag along for backup, eh?" John asked. Lestrade hesitated, heat flushing his cheeks, but he met John's steady gaze with one of his own and nodded.

"I want to come too! I hate being bored." Jim whined. "Alright, who else wants to come?" John sighed, realizing this battle was lost before it began. "Whooo! Field trip!" Jim yelled, slipping out of Lestrade's arms and running between John's legs for the door which Mycroft was holding open.

"Try to keep up, bitches!" he cackled, then disapeared in the corridor. "Jim, wait!" John shouted, picking up Molly and Khan before following the mischevious child. Lestrade and Mycroft headed out of the room, calmly following the sounds of John chasing after the consulting criminal as Anthea closed the door behind them.

~oOo~

After realizing that for all the genius he possessed, he had no idea where the front door to the mansion was, Jim plopped on the floor and waited for the others to catch up.

When John finally did, Khan crawled out of his arms and walked over to where Jim sat. "The corridor leading to the door was two back, Jim." he said, giving the other baby a hand up. "How was I supposed to know? This is a large fucking house!" he protested. Khan smacked him upside the head.

"Language." he scolded. "There are women present." he gestured to Molly and Anthea. "Huh, women." Jim hissed. "Those aren't women, those are sissies!" He said, ducking around Khan to aviod another smack and fleeing down the hallway behind John. "Don't tell me, we took a wrong turn." he said. "Technically, we missed the turn." Khan replied, hopping back into John's arms. The army doctor laughed and walked to the corner Jim's head was peeking around before the mess of short spiky hair disapeared.

~oOo~

When they had finally made it to the front of the mansion, John was stunned by how huge and luxurious the rest of the house was. The only ones who were unaffected by the richness of their surroundings were Sherlock, Khan, and Mycroft, which wasn't all that surprising.

The ringing doorbell brought John out of his slight daze, remembering why they had ventured out of the side wings of the mansion in the first place. "Wait here." John told the others when they reached the sitting room leading to the entry way, which was larger than any lobby in any hotel John had ever seen.

He walked to the front door, and the ringing stopped as though the person on the other side heard him approach. Cautiously, John put an ear to the door.

"Knock knock." a masculine voice said from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

"Who's there?" John asked. He would have laughed at his reponse if he wasn't in serious prepared-to-kick-some-major-arse-army-style mode.

"The Doctor."

"Doctor who?" John asked, leaning away from the door as he heard a strange high pitched electric buzzing sound vibrating throught the oak wood.

The door knob unlocked itself and the door swung open, revealing a lean handsome man in a trench coat, suit and converses. His brown hair was short on the sides and long on top, where it stuck out in a crazy although strangely attractive way.

"Just the Doctor, thanks."

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**SQUEEE! I had to put him in here! Seriously, I was wondering how I could legitimately put all of these characters together, when I was watching Doctor Who and the answer smacked me in the face. It's the Doctor's doing, duh. Explains everything. :)**


	9. Forget Me Not

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

The Doctor placed a cylinder-like silver object, barely larger than his hand with a blue bulb at the top, into a pocket on the inside of his brown trench coat before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"And this is my companion, Rose." he said, stepping through the door and nodding to the girl behind him. She was beautiful, a blonde teenager with dark eyes and full lips, dressed fashionably for her age, but not to slutty like other girls would be. At the word companion John nearly raised his eyebrows, but now that he saw her he felt that they were companions in the classical terms of the word; friends who spent a lot of time together, and they seemed to compliment each other in more than appearance.

Where he was tall, lanky and lean, she was slightly shorter and rounder in a pleasingly healthy way. He seemed eccentric, always wired for the next adventure and tending to ramble, while she was more calm and collected, thinking things out but always willing to follow him. It reminded him of Sherlock and himself, in their own adventures together.

He could also tell that she was in love with the Doctor, if the way she looked at him and stood by him was any indication. The Doctor looked as though he knew this, had in fact been expecting it for a long time, but was surprised by something, possibly his own attraction to her. But still he shied away, loving her from a distance as though there was a wall he could never breach, not by choice but from acceptance of something beyond their control. Suddenly the Doctor let out a breathy laugh, and all eyes followed his gaze.

Sherlock was watching him from beneath his dark curls, eyes alert and taking in every detail. He quickly crawled out of his brother's arms and ran to the Doctor, who picked him up. Sherlock pushed aside the man's brown trench coat and nuzzled close to the fabric of his suit, as though listening for a heartbeat, but on the wrong side of his chest, the right side. Before John could comment on this, Sherlock seemed to have found what he was looking for and closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. The Doctor gently stroked the baby's head, brushing the curls from his eyes. "I've missed you too, Sherlock."

~oOo~

"He remembers who I am, Rose." he said to his companion, voicing he wonder that showed in his eyes. "Even after all these years..." he whispered, just loud enough for the child in his arms to hear.

"Ah, Doctor. So nice to see you again." Mycroft said, breaking the silence. _Of course Mycroft knows him._ John thought, watching the teenager approach the older man, stopping a few meters away. "Why Mycroft, is that you? You've lost weight." the Doctor said with a smile.

"Yes. And I've lost a few inches in height along with several years of bodily maturity. Just what have you done this time, Doctor?" Mycroft asked, leaning on his brolly. "I haven't done anything, it was the TARDIS." he replied calmly. Just before John could ask just what the bloody hell a TARDIS was, Mycroft spared him the question, remembering that John didn't operate on the same intellectual level as himself and therefore he had a lot of explaining to do, which irked him immensely.

"The Doctor is a Timelord, the last of his kind." Mycroft explained. "So he's basically..." John began.

"...an alien, yes." Rose finished. "Don't worry, I didn't believe it myself at first either." she said gently, seeing the disbelief in the army doctor's eyes.

"And the TARDIS is your spaceship, then?" he asked the Doctor, who was gently rocking Sherlock, oblivious to what was occurring around him.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, it is. **T**ime **A**nd** R**elative **D**imension **I**n** S**pace. TARDIS." Doctor said, his mind elsewhere at the moment. "How do you know Sherlock, then?" John asked.

"We met years ago. He's helped me numerous times, has saved my life in fact. It's part of the reason you're all here now." he said.

Jim walked over to him, eyes narrowed into angry slits. "So you're telling me that I'm stuck here, in this body, because of Sherlock?" he asked. The Doctor looked down at him, unperturbed that the baby in front of him was talking.

"Partly, yes. But as I said before, it was mainly the TARDIS's doing," he crouched, sitting on his heels as he looked at Jim eye-to-eye. "James Moriarty." at the mention of his name, Jim grew slightly pale.

"How do you know my name? I don't even know you." he said. "Oh yes you do. You might not remember now, but you will in time." he said, standing up. "That's _the_ James Moriarty?" Rose asked, eyeing the baby. The Doctor only nodded.

"What did Sherlock do that made the TARDIS bring us here then, and why are the majority of us, well, _younger_." John asked. The Doctor looked him over. "You're all younger, how interesting. Even you, Doctor Watson. You might not think it, but you are. You're still a man, just a few years have been shaved off. Surely you can feel it?" he asked, and John nodded.

He did feel younger, now that he thought about it. "The bullet wound in my shoulder," he began, reaching up to rub it; no pain lanced through his arm, and he sighed with relief. "It doesn't hurt." he finished.

"That's because it was never there. Your body is the way it was before you were shot." the Doctor said.

"Tell me, what is the last thing you all remember?" he asked. John tried to think, but all he could remember was screaming, and a piercing light that burned, burned, burned everything within. Looking around, he saw that same panic in his friend's eyes that he knew was in his own. "Nothing." John answered for him, and the Doctor nodded. "You won't be able to remember anything until your main questions are answered." he said.

_How did I get here?_

"Can't you tell us? It was your spaceship, after all." John said.

_Who am I?_

"That's Sherlock's story to tell, not mine."

_What have I become?_

~oOo~


	10. Dragons and Ninja Butlers

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

The Doctor looked around at everyone, his eyes finally coming to rest on little Molly, who John still held next to Khan. "What have you got there, Molly?" he asked, walking over. Gently he stroked her hands, which she had gently but firmly placed on the large white object she was protecting. She looked to Sherlock, who nodded his permission, before slowly turning the skull to face the Doctor. "Oh, Sherlock." the Doctor whispered, taking the skull from Molly and holding it at eye level. His eyes were sad, distant, his mind dreaming of happier times filled with laughter and love that he had stolen from the ones he held.

"I'm sorry."

~oOo~

"So, where's everyone else?" the Doctor asked, looking around.

"This is all of us." John said, sweeping his arm out to gesture to the rest of the children who had gathered around him. The Doctor frowned. "No, no, this isn't all of you. There were more on board the TARDIS." he said.

"You sure?" John asked, slightly confused. "Quite. Trust me, Rose knows this as well." the Doctor said, turning to his blonde companion. She snorted in amusement, muttering something about being chased by bloody dragons in her bedroom, and John deemed it best not to ask. "Tell me, where did you find everyone?" he said.

"Well, I was in a room with Mycroft, Anthea, Lestrade, Molly, Khan, Jim, Donovan and Anderson. Sherlock was in a separate room upstairs." John answered. He would have felt silly, rambling off their names like this except that the Doctor already knew them all.

"Going by Lestrade's guilty face, he found someone else. Didn't you, Lestrade?" the Doctor asked, and they all turned to the teenager in question. He sighed and took of his jacket, turning the sheet-sling-sack around to his front to show them the package he was carrying. The egg still glowed under his gentle touch, but only faintly this time, and he wondered briefly if there was something wrong.

The Doctor walked over and handed the skull to Sherlock, who held it tightly. Sherlock reached into the Doctor's trench coat, pulling out the silver object with the blue bulb that John had seen and placed it in the Doctor's waiting hand. Nodding his thanks to the little detective, he pressed a button and it began to make the same high pitched electric buzzing sound John had heard as he waved it in front of the egg

. "What's that then?" John asked. "Sonic screwdriver." the Doctor replied. "Very handy, my favorite tool of choice."

"When all else fails, screw it." Jim said, earning a smile from the Doctor. "Right you are, Jim." he said.

"He seems fine. Well done Lestrade, wrapping him in warm bedsheets, very quick thinking." "Thanks?" Lestrade said, still a little dazed. "What is 'he,' exactly?" he asked. The Doctor just winked, smiling mysteriously.

"Surprise surprise, lad. It'll be great to watch." he said the last part to himself, pocketing the sonic screwdriver. "Well, we've found one of the missing persons. Where are the other three?" he looked around, scratching his head. He looked to Rose, who just shrugged.

"What do you think, Rose? You're looking for someone you lost." he pressed. She sighed, looking to the ceiling as though the answers were waiting to be seen there before they could hit them on the heads in an epiphany. "In a house like this, well, I suppose I'd look for my mum in the kitchen first. She'd probably get hungry, so she'd look for food. Probably searching for some tea or something." she answered. "Yes! Rose Tyler, you are brilliant!" The Doctor shouted, running to her to crush her in a side hug as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

John had a feeling he would have jumped if he wasn't holding Sherlock. The army doctor smiled, the thought of the Doctor jumping and his use of the word 'brilliant' bringing back a hundred different memories of Sherlock. The baby in question must have seen what he was thinking in his eyes, for he just rolled his own large ones. _Really, John? You are so sentimental._ His eyes said.

_Well someone has to be, Sherlock._ John's eyes said back. "Now where's the kitchen?" John asked. Before anyone could answer, there was a muffled shriek and the sound of breaking glass. "That way! A tea mug just broke!" the Doctor said, running in the direction of the noise, his coat flaring out behind him as everyone grabbed a child and ran after him.

~oOo~

The Doctor, Rose and Lestrade reached the kitchen first, nearly bumping into one another as the Doctor halted in the doorway. A beautiful woman was sitting on a counter in the corner of the ridiculously large kitchen, a huge knife in hand. She was small, but she wielded it fiercely and they could tell she knew how to use it if she had to.

A shattered mug lay in a pool of spilt tea under her feet, the source of the noise. "My good woman, what frightened you so?" the Doctor said handing Sherlock to Rose and walking over to her, careful to avoid the mess of glass and hot liquid.

"I'm not sure what it was. I could feel it following me, but I could never see it. Then it just appeared out of nowhere and nearly scared me to death!" she replied as he took out his sonic screwdriver and scanned her with it.

"What is that? Who are you?" she asked. "It's a sonic screwdriver, and I'm the Doctor." he said. "No injuries, you're fine. If I might help you down." he said, holding her by the waist and placing her safely away from the glass.

"_The _Doctor? I see you've regenerated." she said, looking him up and down with a smile. He smiled back and pulled her into a hug. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Hudson. How's the hip?" "It's just fine! Good as new, although I'm not surprised, since I appear to be younger. And you just keep getting more young and handsome with time, young man, it's just not decent." she chuckled, crushing him with her embrace.

"Still not a ginger?" she asked, pulling away. "No." the Doctor pouted.

"Don't worry, it'll come in time, if at all. And who is this lovely young lady?" she asked, smiling warmly at Rose. "This is Rose Tyler, my companion. Rose, this is Mrs. Hudson, an old friend." he introduced the two women, who began chatting away like they had been friends forever.

"That's Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's landlady?" Lestrade asked the Doctor. "The one and only. She turned younger just like the rest of you." he said, crouching low and peering around the counters.

"Oi! What have you done to Sherlock, Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson asked, taking her baby-fied tenant from Rose, tickling his tummy. He rolled his eyes at her playfully, pretending to be annoyed by her increased sense of sentiment and motherhood towards him. In truth, he deeply enjoyed and appreciated her continued affection, and she knew it.

She had known him since before his heart grew cold, before his soul was emptied of the ability to feel emotions. She understood the price he paid to save the ones he held dear, and she stood by him even after all the others left.

"I'm not complaining, though. He's adorable." she cooed. "And is that you, Detective Inspector? I'd recognize that shock of salt and pepper hair anywhere." she said, embracing the teenager. "Yes, it is Mrs. Hudson. It's a pleasure to see you, ma'am." he said, returning the embrace. Suddenly Mrs. Hudson froze in his arms, and he pulled away to see her now-pale face.

He realized he felt someone watching him, the same exact feeling as when he found the egg. Slowly Lestrade turned, and familiar honey brown eyes met his frightened ones. "John?" he asked, crouching so he could be eye level with the person before him. He was short, _very short_, with long sandy brown hair that fell in his face and over his, _oh my God, are those _pointed ears?! He wasn't wearing any shoes either. Instead, thick curly hair like the hair on his head covered the tops of very large feet. No, this wasn't John. Just a very sort look-alike with his face that wore warm colors with very good fashion sense as opposed to John's jumpers. "I'm not John, I have no idea who you're talking about. My name is Bilbo Baggins."

~oOo~

_Oh God, he sounds just like him too._ Lestrade thought, dazed. "Sorry, but you look just like a friend of mine. Were you following me earlier?" he asked.

"Yes, I was. I wanted to make sure you weren't dangerous. And it's not my fault you were so loud, anyone could follow you without getting noticed. Noisy lot you humans are." Bilbo huffed. "Please stand. Putting yourself at eye level with me only makes me more uncomfortable with my height. We hobbits are very touchy about it, you know." he said firmly, and Lestrade quickly stood with a laugh.

"Yeah, John feels the same way with his height." he told Bilbo. "I what?" John asked, entering the room. Lestrade turned and saw that he was no longer holding Khan and wondered where the baby was.

"You have a mini-me." he said simply, moving out of the way so Bilbo and John could see each other. As soon as they did, their mouths fell open in astonishment. "Right then. I'll leave you two alone for a bit." Lestrade said, walking towards Mrs. Hudson and Rose. Mrs. Hudson wasn't holding Sherlock anymore, which struck Lestrade as odd for some reason. That was when he realized he felt lighter for some reason, and quickly felt his bedsheet sack. The empty sheets draped across his hands.

_Shit, where's the egg?_ He thought, looking around, and finally saw the little thieves. Sherlock and Khan were rolling the cumbersome object between them, and the egg skittered quickly across the cold tiles under their dexterous hands. Lestrade nearly laughed at the sight, until he realized they were heading straight for the fireplace in one corner of the kitchen.

"Khan! Sherlock! Stop right there!" he yelled, chasing after them. Wordlessly Sherlock and Khan picked up the egg and tossed it into the flames, stepping away as they licked the egg and reached for them, hungry for more. Lestrade picked them up and held them close. _So much for saving the egg from being eaten._ He thought sadly. For a split second, the flames jumped from the fireplace and Lestrade quickly scrambled away from the heat, getting himself and his charges to safety.

Then the flames began to die away, the egg glowing brighter as warm hues of honey gold and blood red swept across the surface before being absorbed into the shell. The temperature plummeted, everyone's breaths becoming clouds of vapor that hung near their faces. A scratching sound echoed in the dark fireplace, followed by cracking as the eggshell split in three. Carefully, Khan and Sherlock slipped from Lestrade's grasp and crawled to the broken egg, peering over the grail to see what was inside.

A head rose from the pieces of shell, ruby scales glittering around fiery eyes. Two small wings unfurled from the creature's sides, and a tail swept away the debris of shell from the fireplace. Enchanted by this little creature, Sherlock and Khan peered closer. The little dragon leaned forwards, and a puff of fire escaped its snout, dancing around its muzzle before the dragon's tongue licked it out in a flash of red.

Another flash of red, and the dragon licked both boys on the forehead, its hot tongue tickling their skin. Sherlock giggled, and the dragon crawled out of the fireplace and into his lap. Khan reached out and stroked its wings, scratching between the scales, and the dragon let out a low rumble the equivalent of a cat's purr.

"What's your name then?" Khan asked. _"Smaug."_ the dragon said. No-one commented that there was a talking dragon in the kitchen. If anything, it was expected. The only thing that struck John with concern was the fact that Smaug had Sherlock's voice, if he was constantly growling in his rich baritone.

"Great. Four down, one to go." the Doctor said. John rubbed his face, his shoulders sagging with weariness.

"Right. Who's the last one? Someone else with traits of Sherlock?" he asked, and the Doctor only laughed. "The Necromancer, of course." he said. "Of course it's a bloody Necromancer." John growled.

"Oh, don't worry, he's a nice old chap." the Doctor said, but John was still far from reassured. "Doesn't sound like it, with a name like that." John protested. "He's younger, just like the rest of you." the Doctor said, as though that explained everything. "What does that have to do with anything?" John asked, flustered.

"Not everyone starts out bad. He's a younger version of himself, from before he became the Necromancer. Thing is, I'm not totally sure what he was before that, so I just call him Nec." the Doctor calmly explained. "Now, lets go find him!" he said, spinning on his heel, his trench coat flaring out behind him.

"That won't be necessary." a deep voice rumbled behind John.

If it wasn't for all of his military training and manly-British pride, John would've jumped a foot in the air and screamed. He turned around, coming face to face with a man who looked just like the grown up consulting detective. Well, it would have been face to face if the man wasn't graced with ridiculous height. The Necromancer was wearing a black cloak that hung on his thin frame before vanishing into a fog of shadow that swirled around his feet. He had pulled the hood back, revealing a pale thin face much like Sherlock's, complete with his cheekbones and cupid's-bow lips.

But the eyes were different, a dead grey with swirls of black snaking from the pupils, leaking into the irises. His face was more angular, cheekbones more pronounced, and his hair was raven black with hues of blood red seeping through, glinting maliciously at John in the half-light that surrounded the man. His long hair was combed back from his face, draping around his shoulders and collar bone in a black curtain. His ears were pointed like Bilbo's, but more slender like an elf's.

"So you're the Necromancer?" John asked. The man smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth in a polite snarl.

"Yes. But you all may call me Nec. No need to introduce yourselves, I already know who you are. I've been watching you for some time." he said.

"Lovely. He's like the creepy butler-ninja." Jim muttered.

"Yes, exactly." Nec said.

"After observing the situation we know find ourselves in, it seems likely we are going to be here together for some time. We were all sent here for a reason, and I believe I know what our separate purposes are. YOU!" he said, pointing to John.

"Are the paterfamilias of your family of strange children."

"HEY!" Jim protested, but Nec had already moved on.

"You, Mrs. Hudson, are the lovely housekeeper of this establishment. Young Hobbit! Mr. Baggins, you are the cook. Smaug is the pet monster, belonging mainly to Khan and Sherlock, and I am the suspicious ninja-butler who protects the mansion from unwanted guests and disturbances." he said with a wicked grin. "As for the Doctor, he is our link to our home-worlds, and is of no use at the moment. Time for you to leave, Doctor. Please come again soon, when something important happens." he said, waving a hand to said Doctor and his companion.

"Well come along Rose. We're obviously not needed here. Where would you like to go next?" he asked, leaving the kitchen. Soon a loud noise like 'Vworrrp Vworrrrp Vworrrp Vworrrrp' echoed through the mansion, and the Doctor was gone.

~oOo~

**~A/N~**

**Since the second Hobbit film isn't out yet, I'm kinda winging it on the Necromancer and Smaug, since I don't really know what they act like. I hope you like them! Since this story is going to get extremely depressing at some points, I decided we needed more comic relief. Behold, the creepily-silly ninja butler Nec! Don't worry, he'll be funny, but a total BADASS!**


	11. Cumberguards

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

"Riiiiiiiight." John said, breaking the heavy silence. All eyes turned to him expectantly. "Nec, I'm guessing you know the layout of the mansion." he said. Nec flashed his pearly whites, drawing his hood back over his head so only his teeth, glistening in the light of the kitchen, could be seen. He looked like the Cheshire Cat in human form.

"Naturally." he said. The shadows swallowed him up, and he disappeared. _The fuck...?_ John looked stared at where the butler had been, then around to the others, who just shrugged or shook their heads. Suddenly Nec's hooded head popped into the doorway of the kitchen.

"You coming or not?" he asked impatiently. "Yes, I'm right behind you." John said, startled. He began walking towards the door, where Nec's head had once again disappeared, when the children began whining behind him.

"I wanna come too!" Jim said. "Um," John started, unsure of what he was going to do with the children. He couldn't leave them all here with Mrs. Hudson and Bilbo. It would be too much for her, and Bilbo didn't know any of them. And he was doing a pretty good job himself so far, so there was no reason why he couldn't keep them with him. Seeing that his mind was in sway-zone, the children pressed harder. Even Donovan and Anderson, who thus far had been totally uninterested in the events unfolding around them, pitched in.

"Come on, I wanna go!"

"Me too!"

"If Jim goes, I'd better come along too, John. Keep him out of trouble." Khan said, and Jim glared at him.

"Sherlock wants to go too, don't you Sherlock?" Anderson asked. Sherlock gave him a _ Leave me out of this, you twat, I can speak for myself _glare, but nodded insistently at John anyway.

"Molly wants to go too!" John sighed, quickly realizing their logic of take-one-of-us-you-take-all-of-us that children always seemed to have, and crouched down to their level. "Would you like to come, Molly?" he asked the little girl, who appeared to want to come and was excited by the idea, but was frightened by something.

"What's wrong?" he asked, wishing she could speak. Smaug slithered out of Sherlock's arms and waddle-crawled over to her, touching his muzzle to her temple gently. _"She wants to come, but she's scared of Nec."_ he stated._ "He freaks her out."_ he said, curling his tail protectively around her slender waist.

Khan and Sherlock walked over to her, shielding her from the cold gaze of the curious butler who had poked his head back into the kitchen to see what the hold-up was. "We'll protect you, Molly. Besides, there's nothing to be scared of from that silly man." Khan whispered gently in her ear, stroking brown wisps of hair from chocolate eyes that were wide with fright.

Nec frowned beneath his cloak (_I'm _not_ silly, I'm _scary. He thought), but seeing Sherlock's warning stare, he shrugged and entered the room. "I won't scare you, Molly." he said, crouching low and pushing his hood back. The shadows at his feet slithered out, reaching for Molly's onesie-covered feet, but she quickly pulled her legs in.

"Hmmm, she'll get used to me eventually. Until then, I'll stay in the shadows where she can't see me." Nec told John as he stood, pulling the hood back up. John almost thought he sounded a little sad, but he kept his thoughts to himself as Nec disappeared again into the shadows.

"Right then. Mycroft, Anthea, want to come? It'll be good for you to learn your way around the house." John said. Mycroft shook his head. "We already know our way around here. You go on, we'll keep Bilbo and Mrs. Hudson company." he said, speaking for both of them. John frowned a bit at this, finding it just a little odd, but the look on Mycroft's face kept him from asking any further questions. Besides, from what Nec had said, they were going to be spending a lot of time here and everything would be explained later.

"I'll come, I have no idea where anything is. Besides, I'll help you keep an eye on the kids." Lestrade said. "Alright then. Is there anything that we can use to carry the kids?" he asked no one in particular.

"Yeah, lets use this." Jim said, pulling a bright red wagon out of who-knows-where. "Smaug, may we put a harness on you and attach it to the wagon?" Khan asked.

_"Certainly."_ the dragon replied.

Lestrade created a make-shift harness for the little dragon out of the bedsheets he was still carrying and tied it securely to the wagon. Then he began placing the children inside, Sally and Anderson in the back, with Khan and Sherlock sitting in the front with Molly between them. Mrs. Hudson walked over and placed the skull in Sherlock's lap, who nodded his thanks and cradled it in his arms.

John began walking towards the door, turning around to make sure Smaug wasn't having too hard a time with his load. The little dragon was stronger than he looked, pulling the wagon effortlessly. John peered into the corridors, finally spotting Nec as the darkest shadow that moved along the walls. He motioned the little troupe forward, beckoning from the darkness.

"Does this mansion have a name?" John asked, walking alongside Nec. "It does in fact. It's called the Baker Street Mansion."

~oOo~

******~A/N~**

******Alright! Last chapter for today, 'cuz it's bath and bedtime for me :)**

******Side note: Smaug will speak in italics, just cuz he's not human and it makes things easier in my head.**

******Hope you guys are liking it, I know I am. This story is really taking on a life of its own, I swear. Not that I mind, it certainly saves me the trouble of not having anything to write about. Hope you all enjoyed the Cumberguarding, cuz there's more to come in the story! ;)**

******So, in case you didn't figure it out yet, this story was born from two main ideas (main questions, actually). **

******One: I can't say, it's a secret that'll be revealed later. It's the reason why they're all younger and why they were sent to the Baker Street Mansion. [I'll give you a hint: It pumps blood through your body, but not everyone has one, and some have two of them ;)]**

******Two: What if I put all of the characters that Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch plays into one story? Of course this isn't all of them, just the ones I know and can legitimately put into a story. Yeah, I'm crazy. But that's what makes being a writer so much fun! Craziness!**

******Love to all,**

******~Maeve09**


	12. Memories of the Necromancer

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

It took them the better part of the day to get through the whole mansion, wandering the spacious corridors with side commentary from Nec, talking about the old inhabitants of the estate and "Oh, she was gay, those two siblings were cheating on their spouses with each other's spouses, what a mess, no, no one ever heard about it, this wealthy family shushed things up rather nicely."

They stopped for a while in front of the portrait that hung across from the room John had found himself and the children in, and after a few seconds John realized that Nec wasn't saying anything. He turned and saw that Nec appeared to be frozen under the tapestry's glare, as were Smaug, Sherlock and Khan. The portrait was of an old man, who sneered back at him, his eyes glowing with pure hate and malice. I pity the poor bugger who had to paint that. John thought. It was the same one Khan had glared at earlier, but now that the house seemed brighter for some reason, the painting didn't look as sinister when facing their large force of people.

"Who's that, then?" John asked Nec, who shuddered, quite visibly shaken from his unpleasant reminisces. "No idea, the house won't speak of him. Just that he is a very, very bad man that I once met before, a long time ago." he said. "I remember him from somewhere." Suddenly he let out a deep breath and staightened his back, blending back into the shadows.

"Come along, children. You must be hungry, back to the kitchen with you." he said, leading the troupe away from the painting.

"I don't like that picture, let's not come here again." Jim said. "I second that, Jim." Lestrade said, ruffling the little boy's hair. Jim growled and swatted his hand away, making Lestrade laugh."Catch me if you can!" he said, jogging ahead of the wagon full of children.

"Smaug, after him!" Khan ordered._ "With pleasure." _the little dragon purred, and took off after the teenager, gaining speed with each step. He was still too young to fly, but his wings cut through the air and propelled them forward.

As the children raced off in the direction of the kitchen, John motioned for Nec to join him in the corridor. The man stepped from the shadows, drawing his hood back and slowing his pace to meet John's.

"You said the house won't speak of it. What did you mean by that?" John asked.

"Just what I said. How do you think I know so much about this mansion? Although I am younger than I once was, and am good at heart, I still have the skills and abilities of the Necromancer. I didn't just bring things back from beyond the grave; the first skill I learned was how to bring memories back to life. And so that's what I've been doing, relearning the history of this place." Nec said, placing a hand on the wall beside him fondly.

"Relearning?" John pressed. "I've been here before, in another life, in another time. And I'm not the only one." Nec said, looking at John meaningfully. "Khan?" John asked, and Nec nodded, waiting for him to name the others. "Mycroft, Sherlock, Jim..." John let his voice drift off. Nec nodded at each name, except Jim's where he shook his head.

"Jim has never been here, but he is connected to this place, through Sherlock." he said decidedly. "Well I've never been here before, why am I here now? I can't remember, but you said you can bring memories back. Can't you do that now?" John asked.

Nec just sighed and shook his head firmly. "No, it doesn't work that way, John. I can't force something like this; something this important has to develop on its own. Whatever the reason, we're all connected somehow and were brought here, and we'll remember why, when the time is right. Until then, we'll just make the most of it and have some fun, eh?" he said with a wink, and John felt oddly reassured by this strange man in his cloak of Shadows.

"One more thing, Nec, about the paintings. The majority seemed pleasant, but there were some who seemed downright malicious." he said, and Nec nodded his understanding. "So you felt it too?" he asked, and John nodded.

"Why do you think that is?" John asked. "Family fued. From what I can tell, this mansion was the home of one whole family. Wealthy, happy, pleasant lives for all of them, but there's always a bad seed somewhere. He was determined to rip the family apart, God knows why." Nec replied, nodding to the picture they had last seen. John turned around, and the picture followed him with hate-filled eyes. A chill raced down John's spine, but he refused to let it frighten him. He was a soldier in the British army, he was man enough to face an old painting.

"Did he succeed?" John asked, turning back to Nec. The cloaked man's face was a mask of cold stone, his cupid's bow mouth set in a grim, hard line, chisled cheekbones casting deep shadows across ivory skin. "Only time will tell."

~oOo~

******~A/N~**

******Duh duh DUH!**

******I am going to really screw with your heads! Muahahaha...or at least I'll try to. Things might not make sense now, but I am putting everything in here for a reason, which will be discovered later. I've pretty much decided that "Beneath the Frost" will be mainly about John and the rest of the crew and their adventures in the Baker Street Mansion, filled with fluffy, heart warming cutsie stuff. Because once we get into the sequel, "Beyond the Mirror," all the fluff will be gone and we shall get to the truth of why they are here. (on second thought, I'll keep some of the fluff and lots of scenes with Nec for comic relief, b/c my main goal is to make you weep, but not too much, I'm not ****_that_**** cruel)**

******Since the summary spot for stories isn't as long as I would like, here are the actual summaries for "Beneath the Frost" and "Beyond the Mirror":**

******Beneath the Frost: **

******Sherlock and Khan's souls are empty, their hearts lost to time and space. And what fills the emptiness, but a frost that thickens until the nearly impenetrable surface wards off any chance they have at feeling alive, of feeling human. After countless sacrifices, they are finally given another chance at life, one that could drastically change them forever. The only question is; will the people they love the most stand by them, when they discover what lurks beneath the frost?**

******Beyond the Mirror:**

******After years of developing a bond stronger that any brotherhood, Shelrock and Khan are often regarded as mirror images, compliments of one another in the world they find themselves in. And as years go on, they begin to realize just how alike they truly are. They are the same man, separated by time and space in a mirror that was never crossed until all those years ago, before the Baker Street Mansion. But even reflections can be distorted, and how far are they willing to go to find what lies beyond the mirror?**


	13. Food Fights and Bubble Baths

******~Author's Note~ I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, The Hobbit, or Star Trek: Into Darkness. All rights of ownership goes to their respective owners. With that said, enjoy the story! :)**

When Nec and John had finally neared the kitchen, they heard ear piercing shrieks and the wailing of children. Glancing at each other with mirrored expressions of concern, they hastened to the source of the screams, John breaking into a dead sprint and Nec melting into the shadows and entering the kitchen so fast that if John had blinked, he would have missed it.

Putting his confused thoughts about Nec's quick mode of transportation out of his mind, John ran through the open kitchen door, nearly crashing into Nec. He gripped the door frame, his body jerking to a halt as he beheld the scene before him. Nec was looking at the children with a slightly constipated expression on his face, several emotions at war with each other. The corners of his lips continuously quirked up a notch before he forced them back down farther, making his face even more contorted with puzzled amusement and haughty aloofness. Quickly assessing the situation, John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and sagged against the doorframe.

The children were all sitting on the large counter in the center of the kitchen, causing mayhem like only children could. Sherlock had somehow gotten a hold of a family-sized bag of marshmallows and was tossing them up while Smaug roasted them in the air, their intent to get the dragon-fire warmed balls of gooey sweetness into Sherlock's waiting mouth.

The majority missed their target, landing in Sherlock's curls and clothing, sliding off and sticking in random places, covering Sherlock and his skull in a sugar encrusted web. He huffed in annoyance at his body's inability to aim correctly, and tried again. Smaug patiently and obediently roasted marshmallow after marshmallow, licking a bit of melted sugar off of Sherlock's onesie in between roastings, his scales rippling in pleasure. _Dragons love marshmallows. Go figure._

Meanwhile Jim, the persistent little devil, was torturing poor Andie and Sally. From what John could see, Andie and Sally had been calmly eating tiny sandwiches that Mrs. Hudson had placed on a platter in the middle of the counter until Jim had apparently decided eating was a tedious and pointless activity, and sandwiches belonged _on _people, not in them.

He had promptly nabbed their sandwiches away and had made lovely hats and such for them , covering them with various meats, breads, and dressings. Sally was shrieking in frustration, Andie was glaring at Jim and was trying to hit him without falling over the counter, and Jim was sitting on the edge of the counter, swinging his baby feet gleefully as he threw perfectly aimed bread torpedoes and meatballs at them.

Molly, overcome by the stressfulness of the situation, was wailing piteously, drenching Khan's arms with her sobbing. He just sat there trying to calm her with his embrace, a true gentleman. Khan saw John and Nec in the doorway and nodded, jerking his head in Jim's direction. _He started it._ His eyes said.

Seeing that the children, while causing enough calamity to wake the dead and incur their wrath in a premature zombie apocalypse, were safe at the moment, John looked around for Mrs. Hudson and the teenagers.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called out, carefully skirting around the counter to avoid getting in the way of Smaug's stream of fire.

"Over here, dear." Mrs. Hudson's muffled voice called back from deeper in the kitchen. John followed it until he came across another door. Opening it, he saw Mrs. Hudson and Anthea in a rather large closet filled with cleaning tools and other necessities that were used to keep this large kitchen in order. Mrs. Hudson was atop a very tall ladder, grabbing who-knows-what off of the shelves while Anthea texted away, leaning slightly against the ladder with her legs wrapped around it and crossed at the ankles to keep it from falling,. John had no idea how the teenage girl managed to hold such a position while looking absolutely lady-like, but she did. Maybe it was just another Anthea-thing he would never understand.

"The children are causing quite a ruckus." John noted, and the shrieking grew louder as though punctuating his statement.

"Yes, indeed they are. Anthea, be a dear and make sure Jim hasn't killed anyone." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Sure thing, ma'am." the brunette said, pocketing the blackberry and leaving the closet to check on the children. John followed her with his eyes, his mouth open in shock. Mrs. Hudson caught him gaping and frowned.

"What's so shocking?" she asked, reaching for yet another bottle of cleaner.

"You just got _Anthea_ to talk. And not just that, but she actually stopped texting and _put the phone away._ How the bloody hell did you do that?" he asked incredulously.

"First of all; language, young man. Secondly, I'm not sure. Must be a woman thing." she answered with a delicate shrug. She began descending the ladder, one arm full of bottles and boxes.

When she had come close enough, John lifted her off the ladder by the waist and set her down on the floor. "Thank you, John. Now as I have quite a mess to clean up, would you be so kind as to remove the children? They've all eaten a bit, so I wouldn't worry too much about their stomachs. I'm not so sure about Sherlock though. He's just consumed a rather large amount of marshmallows for a baby his age, I would consult Mycroft about the possible after affects." she added with a slight frown.

"Where are Mycroft and Lestrade, by the way?" John asked, escorting her from the closet and closing the door behind them.

"The boys went to scout out the house for the bedrooms we'll be using and to make sure that everything is working. The lights, the water.." she trailed off, setting the cleaning materials on a counter.

"Yes, of course." John said distractedly, staring off into space. _What the hell am I doing here? I have no idea how to care for children, much less _eight_ of them and a bloody pet _dragon! Mrs. Hudson saw his thoughts stampeding beneath the surface of his eyes, and felt a sudden swell of love and pride for this man, who was going through so much and was rising to the occasion. He was beginning to doubt himself, but he just needed a push of encouragement. Gently she placed a hand on his cheek, and his eyes looked into hers.

"It'll be alright, dear. Things will work out in the end, they always do." she said with a motherly smile, patting his cheek gently. John's face calmed, his mouth relaxing into a small tired smile.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson." he said, hugging her and giving her a quick peck on the cheek before returning to his nine little charges. Mrs. Hudson smiled as she watched him pick up Molly and soothe her while taking a natural command over the other children. His potential for fatherhood was a shining beacon of hope in their small world of darkness.

~oOo~

"Alright, Molly. Sush, dearest, everything's fine." John cooed to the little girl in his arms. After a few hiccups, she finally quieted, gazing up at him with her large doe eyes. "That's better. Jim, that's enough. Leave Andie and Sally alone." John ordered.

Jim gave a loud harrumph of displeasure, crossing his arms and sulking in a corner. Sally and Anderson gave him nasty faces, not minding the nicknames John had bestowed upon them.

"That goes for you two as well." he said, and the face-pulling stopped abruptly. "Sherlock," John began, turning to his old flatmate. Sherlock was attempting to hide the half-empty bag behind his back, shooting death glares at John, daring him to try and take it. "Give me the marshmallows, Sherlock. I don't want you going into a sugar rush. God knows we don't need one from you." he said, reaching for the bag.

Sherlock lifted it over his head to keep it away from John, and promptly found his hands bereft of his sweets.

"I'll take that. Here, John." Anthea said, handing John the bag she had snatched from the unsuspecting Sherlock. _Traitor. _His eyes glared at her, and he sulked against Smaug who wrapped a wing around him protectively while still managing to appear completely uninterested in the events unfolding around him.

"Thank you, Anthea. Lets get the children back in the wagon, and we'll take them to a bathroom to clean them." he said, tossing the marshmallow bag onto the counter next to him. "Where is that wagon?" he wondered aloud, glancing about the kitchen.

"Here." Nec said from the shadows, and the bright red object rolled from the darkness to rest at John's feet. "Lovely. Thank you Nec." John said, placing the children back into the wagon while Anthea secured the harness around Smaug.

"Mycroft and Lestrade have found suitable rooms for our stay. I'll lead you to them." Nec informed him, wrapped securely in his shadows as he left the kitchen. John and Anthea followed close behind, anxious to get the children cleaned as soon as possible. They knew from instinct that messy children can breed hell.

~oOo~

Aside from the seemingly endless journey up the stairs (_Oh my God, this house is ridiculously enormous._ John had thought) in which Nec had used his shadows to levitate the wagon upwards after it became apparent that wagons and stairs weren't the best of friends, they reached the bedrooms where Lestrade and Mycroft were waiting quite quickly.

"We've started the baths, and the water is perfect." Lestrade informed John, and Mycroft rolled his eyes, _Of course the water is perfect, I heated it that way, you dolt_ clearly evident in his body language.

Lestrade ignored the other teen and began lifting the children from the wagon. "Yuck. I'm not sure I want to know what happened." he said, picking bits of meat from Andie's hair.

"Food fight with this little tyke." John said, ruffling Jim's hair. Jim smacked his hand and sulked some more, sinking into a corner of the bright red monstrosity that had transported him here. Anthea lifted Molly out and held her close, following Mycroft into the next room that he and Lestrade had set up for the girls.

After some struggle, John and Lestrade had managed to wrestle Jim out of the wagon and his clothes and into the tub where Andie was already playing in the bubble bath. As soon as he touched the water, Jim began splashing around, making enormous waves that swamped the other baby. Andie was quick to retaliate, shooting jets of water directly at Jim. The two began a bubble-bath hurricane, and soon Lestrade and John were drenched with soapy water.

"Great. Just great." John grumbled, shrugging out of his water-logged woolen jumper and tossing it into the corner where it landed with a wet smack. He was thankful to find the thin white shirt beneath was only slightly damp since his poor jumper had taken the brunt of it.

"Right then. Sherlock, in you go." he said to the baby, jerking his thumb towards the tub where Lestrade was struggling to scrub Jim's hair without getting soapy water in the screaming child's eyes or mouth.

"Sod off, you asshole!" Jim yelled, getting a faceful of water. "Oh hush up! I told you to close your mouth, Jim." Lestrade scolded, grabbing a pitcher from the floor beside him and filling it with fresh water from the tub faucet and pouring it over the baby.

"You're not the boss of me! I do what I want! AUGHHH! That water's too cold! John, he's trying to give me hypothermia!" Jim managed to scream before his flailing arms and Andie's water attacks filled his mouth with more soapy liquid. "For God's sakes, don't swallow!" Lestrade said, patting Jim on the back as he coughed up water and baby shampoo.

Sherlock observed this with a critical eye, then turned to John and firmly shook his head. "Come on, Sherlock, you're filthy!" John pleaded, trying to pick melted marshmallows out of Sherlock's dark curls. Sherlock made a small 'humph' of protest and tried shooing John's hands away without success. Smaug slithered out of the sheet harness and stood on his hind legs, resting his front feet on the side of the wagon in a position that reminded John of a curious puppy.

If puppies had wings and claws and could breath fire. Oh, and the scales, don't forget the scales.

_"Let me."_ Smaug said, and began cleaning the sugar web off with his long red tongue. Sherlock let out a tiny giggle of pleasure, but suddenly his face contorted in pain, and the dragon-cleaning stopped. Smaug leaned further into the wagon, prodding the baby gently with his snout and inhaling deeply, stirring the dark curls from his face.

Carefully Smaug's nose traced Sherlock's face, moving down his jaw line to his neck, all the while sniffing the child as though searching for something. When he had reached Sherlock's chest he stopped, his snout hovering just over where his would be. Smaug brought his face back up to meet Sherlock's cold eyes, pressing his warm nose against Sherlock's.

_"I'm sorry."_ the dragon's apology passed from his mind to the child's through the link he had formed when he marked Khan and Sherlock after he had hatched. Sherlock's eyes flashed with a well-known pain, but he couldn't remember the cause. He raised a small hand and gently stroked the scales beneath Smaug's jaw. _I'm fine._ He thought back to dragon.

John watched this interaction with some interest, not seeing what was happening beneath the surface. Khan, however, observed everything from his seat in the wagon, pulling more pieces from a shattered past together. There was a gentle thrumming in the back of his mind, and he knew that Sherlock and Smaug were conversing in the quiet of theirs. Khan wasn't surprised, he had known their three minds were connected from the moment Smaug had marked their foreheads with his tongue. Carefully he stood and walked to the other side of the wagon where Smaug and Sherlock were, their noses pressed together.

"Mind if I climb down?" Khan asked Smaug, who ruffled a wing in response. _"Be my guest."_ the dragon told through the mind link, and Khan swiftly climbed onto Smaug's back and slid down the dragon's spine to the floor.

"You coming?" Khan asked Sherlock, who turned his head and peered at Khan with narrowed eyes. _"Go on, out with you."_ Smaug said aloud, nudging the baby with his nose. Sherlock clambered onto Smaug's back, one arm wrapped around the dragon's neck and the other around his precious skull as Smaug lowered him to the ground.

Once he reached the floor where Khan was waiting, Sherlock held the skull out towards Khan and looked at him meaningfully. Khan didn't need the mind link to understand what he wanted. "Sherlock wants Anthea to take the skull and clean in the girl's bathroom." Khan said to the man who watching the babies, his curiosity rising. "Certainly." John said, then wondered if he should shout for Anthea or invade the privacy of the girl's bathroom.

Nec spared him the decision making and appeared next to him, his arm outstretched and reaching for the skull. "I'll take it to her, Sherlock." he said, and the child nodded, handing the skull over. Nec reverently wrapped the skull in the folds of his dark cloak, cradling the package with the utmost care. Sherlock nodded his approval and Nec left the room to deliver it to Anthea. Satisfied that his skull would be taken care of, Sherlock let Khan lead him to the tub and help him out of his sticky clothes, then crawled up Smaug's neck to jump off his head and into the bath.

He waded to the far side of the tub, just within Lestrade's reach so he could wash him, but away from the other boys. He was still mad at Jim, he was hardly sure he could ever forgive him for touching his skull, and he was still distrustful of Khan, who looked just like him but had given aid to his enemy. Smaug watched this with feigned indifference from the side of the tub, after informing John that _"Dragons do not partake in bubble baths." _while Khan observed with his usual calmness. He knew Sherlock wouldn't forgive him just yet; he wasn't expecting him to. But he felt that they would come to trust one another in the future, and for that he was willing to wait patiently.

~oOo~

******~A/N~**

******Once again, I'll have to wait to put what I wanted in this chapter into another one, hopefully the next one. So, what did you guys think? Would love to hear your thoughts! Sorry I haven't updated, half of this chapter has just been sitting on my laptop torturing me because I had other stuff I needed to take care of. **

******And life was a bitch throughout the week, reminding me about my story.**

****** Here's what happened: One day, I got dressed in a new shirt a got, looks like Sherlock's shirts but blue, and when I walked outside, I started fangirling b/c OMG it's really PURPLE! Next day, I'm putting on my makeup when I actually bother to read the label (seriously, who reads labels anymore? Not me, apparently.) and it says, "Dragonfruit." Fangirling counter: 2**

******The same day at school, I'm reading a book, and in the book this rich englishman has an english dog named "Baskerville."**

****** Fangirling counter: 3**

******Same day, I go to the bathroom when I look at a notice on the stall door and scribbled on it is "Bad Wolf." and it looks just like from the episodes. Fangirling counter: 4. Couple minutes later, I'm walking through a hallway in the school that I've never gone to before, and one of the doors is blue. I look at it and it's the TARDIS door. Fangirling counter: 5. **

******Seriously? Why, life, why? The feels are getting to be a little too much! (Not that I'm complaining or anything. #fangirlproblems)**


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